September 5, 2016

I drove from Durango through Silverton to Ouray and back today. I have now driven the Million Dollar Highway four times (twice in each direction). There wasn't a cloud in the sky today, nor was there any snow on the mountains, which made the photography less interesting. Heading south from Ouray to Silverton on US Rte. 550 was scary the second time, too. I really don't know if I could handle it in BOB. The road is shoulderless in places with sheer drops. There was a lot of traffic, and more than one vehicle descending northbound into Ouray crossed the centerline when passing me. There are places in which the asphalt is crumbling, buckled, or has holes along the white line, so moving to the right is dodgy. I pulled over on a small gravel turnout to photograph an example of the sheer drop, but I couldn't get out of the car: I was too afraid to get closer to it. At a larger turnout, I took a picture of a hole under the white line.

I love the Red Mountain, a triple-peaked caldera with elevations from 12,225 to 12,896 feet. I'd really love to see it from the sky. Although the highway makes me remind myself that I have to use the gas pedal as well as the brake, it is one of the most beautiful places I've been in the US. I stopped at the Red Mountain lookout twice today. If I lived in Montrose, Ouray, Silverton or Durango, I'd drive US Rte. 550 as often as possible.

I had a Reuben at the Grand Restaurant and Saloon in Silverton. It arrived five minutes after I ordered it at the bar. It was fine, although the Thousand Island dressing was weak. I walked around town for a bit, then I went to the Durango-Silverton RR to photograph the train. I'm taking it tomorrow, but I don't trust the forecast (which has varied from sunny to thunderstorms over the last week), so I photographed it today. I walked back to the Camaro which was across the street from the train's terminus, and a Spanish-speaking man in his Harley costume said to me, "Good auto!" and grinned. Then he said, "Knight Rider," which made me eject my tonsils in one giant laugh. I never watched the show, but I think the car was a black Pontiac Trans Am as opposed to a navy Camaro. I felt like handing the guy my keys.

The RV park is half-empty, yet I can't sustain their Wi-Fi connection. They must be speed-limiting me after my DropBox download coup the other day. Verizon has me in safety mode, and my Jetpack's signal doesn't even appear as an option. So, safety mode means jammed signal. Interesting. Next time, I won't disconnect from the device and see how slow it really is. Fuckers: they make me like AT&T – as much as one can like AT&T.

​My father sent me an email today telling me that my mother is experiencing breathing difficulties during the night. He wanted me to ask Jean whether they should get an oxygen system or whether he should brush up on doing tracheotomies. My father had never done a tracheotomy because he was a lawyer, not a doctor, although the latter is his new hobby. He won't give me intellectual property advice because that wasn't his specialty, but he's willing to do a tracheotomy on my mother from a DIY manual. Forget that he has the patience and finesse of a three year-old. My mother has an enlarged hiatal hernia which has probably been causing her cough and breathing difficulties. Jean said she should she see her practitioner. What a good idea! I relayed the information. The truth is, my father doesn't want my mother to die, and he is willing to anything to save her. He just wants someone to tell him what he can do. Fortunately, my mother has a surgical consultation regarding the hernia; my father wants to make sure she lives long enough to resolve the problem.